A big thanks to Ruth and the chat whores for helping me out on this installment. This was a tough one. Hence the no update for two months.
At any rate, welcome back to bitterness on parade...
INT. XANDER'S APARTMENT - EVENING
XANDER, ANYA, and WILLOW sit in gloomy silence. They are drinking coffee,
staring into space. Xander seems extremely uncomfortable, sitting up remarkably straight in his chair as opposed to his usual comfy slouch. Suddenly, breaking the silence:
ANYA
Do you think she walks around on
clouds, wearing like, yanno, the same kinds of
things she wore here? 'Cause those were just not flattering.
They all turn and stare at her. Willow, stone-faced.
ANYA (cont'd)
You know. The peasant blouses and mismatched skirts.
I always pictured her more in leather, you know?
(off their looks)
What? I'm just saying what
everyone's thinking. Right, bonehead?
She looks to Xander for confirmation. He does the best he can:
XANDER
Huh? Did you say something about lesbians and leather?
She gives him a cross look.
ANYA
(sullen)
I was just wondering. Is that so wrong?
(then, to someone we can't see yet)
What's it like anyway?
And then a surprise. We hear a familiar voice:
GHOST TARA (O.S.)
It's totally not stupid to wonder
what it's like.
Sure enough, the ephemeral form of Tara has materialized, sitting in the
empty chair next to Willow. The redhead's eyes go misty, a sad smile playing
at the corners of her eyes.
WILLOW
Hi, honey.
TARA
Hello, sweetie.
(to Anya)
It could be any one of a zillion
heavenly dimensions. All I know is
that it's a Willow-free zone.
(she frowns, the expression deepening as she continues)
And Miss Kitty Fantastico is here.
Joss said she ran away, but it turns out he
hit her with his car one day during lunch
as he was speeding out of the parking lot
on his way to that strip club down the street.
Willow's face darkens, her eyes starting to emit fiery red sparks. Xander
jumps back from the table, hands held out before him as though to stave off
an eminent attack. He moves stiffly, as though in some pain.
XANDER
Whoa!
Anya rolls her eyes at her former boyfriend, huffing a contempt-ridden sigh.
TARA
Honey?
Willow blinks, her eyes still glowing eerily crimson, but her expression
doting, her lips curled into a gentle smile to be in Tara's presence.
WILLOW
Uh huh?
TARA
You're doing that thing again. The- you know-
She gestures towards her own eyes, shrugging sweetly.
Willow's mouth forms an 'O' of surprise as it dawns on her. She concentrates
for a moment and the red fades to black, then back to the much more
comfortingly normal emerald hue.
WILLOW
(sheepish)
Sorry. Still... yanno... workin' through my crazy lesbian rage.
ANYA
Yeah. Enough with the rage already. Deal.
Can we get back to discussing more important things now?
Like whether or not Tara's wardrobe has improved since she died horribly?
Willow winces and reaches to take Tara's hand, frowning as, at first, her
long, slender fingers pass right through the apparition of Tara's flesh. Tara
frowns and closes her eyes, focusing her thoughts. Her form becomes more
well-defined, and while not as solid as usual, enough to touch. It's the
best she can do. Willow beams gratefully, intertwining their fingers.
TARA
In short, heaven might as well be hell, it's so godawful boring. Why do
you think I spend so much time here with you guys still?
XANDER
So you can have supernatural sex with Willow?
WILLOW
(eyes flashing angrily)
Xander!
Tiny little veins of wrath start to pulse under the pale skin of Willow’s
forehead. Sighing, she puffs up her cheeks and lets out a deep breath,
calming herself. Again, Xander shifts uncomfortably.
WILLOW (cont'd)
The point is, we have to find a way out of this.
Joss took everything that was good about the show away from us. He wrecked everything.
XANDER
Hey, he didn't wreck. He didn't know.
WILLOW
That’s such a crock.
XANDER
Maybe he did screw up, but I feel weird thinking that. Like I'm defying the
natural order of things, yanno? I mean... we're talking mutiny here. Can't
we all just move past this whole thing? I mean, no offense, Tara, but with
you gone, maybe I can get Willow to, yanno, be interested in Anya- and me.
And Anya AND me.
He has started to tick off the numbers with his fingers, trying to figure it out mathematically. Holds up first two, then three, and then another. He looks at the fourth finger, confused. Puts hands down.
XANDER (cont’d)
Or, to simplify things: Me like the girl-on-girl action.
No Tara equals-
A spasmodic tic in Willow's cheek jumps just as the lights in the room dim. Red hazy light flickers eerily behind the gang as though the room were enshrouded in some kind of otherworldly flame- as the walls to begin to bleed. Again we see the Wiccan struggle internally, caging the rage. The walls go back to normal, but Xander eyes them nervously. Anya and Tara take it in stride, clearly used to this kind of thing by now.
XANDER
Um... as I was... saying?
ANYA
Xander, just shut up.
TARA
Not to be Miss Psycho-Former-Firing-Squad-Target, but
I think we've got to stop obsessing
about what Joss did, and start trying
to figure out how to make things better for the show.
ANYA
I'm with Miss Psycho-Miraculously-Caught-a-Heat-Seeking-Bullet-Between-the-Ventricles. Of course, that means changing an awful lot around here.
XANDER
Maybe if we spend more time with him.
Just hang out. Maybe we should do
weekly dinners, discuss upcoming storylines.
Or we could write him a letter. I still
have that yellow crayon around here somewhere…
He reaches back and scratches his ass, shifting uncomfortably once more. Hmm.
Upset, Willow stands, spreading her hands out flat against the table top.
WILLOW
Enough already about the godamn yellow crayon.
(intense)
But the show- we have to bail. Get out while we still can-
TARA
No. No more avoiding the issue.
WILLOW
Then what? This isn't something they can fix with freakin’ Crayola.
Willow heaves a sigh of intense frustration. Tara frowns at her, surprised at her willingness to give up. Xander senses the tension.
XANDER
(light)
Alright, alright, I'll use a pencil.
Tara ignores Xander. Faces up to Willow.
TARA
I can't believe we're talking about
this again. You know how much the fans depend on us- ALL of us.
(casts a pointed glance in Xander’s and then Anya’s direction)
And he disappointed them. He hurt them. Terribly. He used US to hurt them.
Willow leans close to Tara, insistent.
WILLOW
But even some of them are pretending like it never happened.
Both Anya and Xander nod emphatically. Until they look at each other and realize that they are agreeing with one another. Anya frowns sourly at her former fiancé. Frustrated, Tara SLAMS her hands down onto the table. Unfortunately, they go right through the table, passing through it Casper-esque. It only makes her more angry.
TARA
What is wrong with all of you?
Xander stands up and takes a step towards the bedroom.
XANDER
Yanno, I'm just gonna ... go look at porn.
You probably don't wanna hear about it.
Heterosexual stuff, doin’ it like the dogs...
Anya rises almost simultaneously, pretending to hear a psychic cry for vengeance. Casts another malevolent glance in Xander’s direction.
ANYA
Oh! Well, gosh darnit. There goes the ol’ telepathic beeper. Freakin’ mortals, always thinking I’ve got time to turn their ex-boyfriends inside out inbetween-
She stops midsentence. An expression of genuine embarrassment crosses Anya’s face as she realizes what she’s just said in front of Willow. Wil cringes. Tara coolly stares Xander and Anya down.
TARA
Sit down. Both of you. Now.
They do. Gulping. Take Charge Tara. Very commanding. Rar.
TARA (cont’d)
Haven’t you learned anything?
God knows they buried your motivations under a mountain of crap writing this season, all three of you, but I would expect you to get what they were trying, and failing, to say.
Willow and Anya look down, ashamed of themselves. Xander wears a confused expression.
TARA
(to him, pityingly)
Well, okay. Maybe not you.
Willow is at a loss for words. After a second:
WILLOW
I'm sorry. I don’t-
TARA
Don’t. Just… don’t say there’s nothing we can do.
There’s always something to do.
Hell, even when they had you go all Cracktastic you were still action girl. At their most creatively bankrupt point, the writers still couldn’t bring themselves to write you as helpless, Wil. When you’re determined to do something, there’s nothing in this world that can stop you if you don’t want to be stopped. That much they got right.
Guilt etched in the lines creasing her forehead, Wil winces, remembering.
WILLOW
I never meant to-
Eyes downcast, Willow trails off, unsure of what to say.
TARA
I know, Wil. But it’s time to take the cockroach by the antennae, look it straight in the eye and say, “So what? You’re a part of me. Big freakin’ deal.” Time to shore up those geek-infested roots, sweetie. They grew the woman I love.
WILLOW
I just want things the way they were. You back the way you were.
She reaches out to Tara. The blonde strokes her hands, soothing her.
TARA
If you want things to be better, you find a way to make them better. You don’t sit around expecting the people who screwed you over in the first place to make it right.
WILLOW
I do want to make things better.
She thinks for a minute, mustering her strength. Looks up, conviction working its way back into her tone.
WILLOW
Yeah. Screw Joss. We can do this. Together. Without Daddy Whorebucks.
Tara nods just as the sound of an amused snort comes from somewhere nearby. Then-
Tara’s expression falls, a note of bitter frustration apparent in the thin press of her lips. Someone has been listening in on their little impromptu gathering. She addresses the newcomer-
TARA
That’s right. You don’t get to decide what’s best for the show anymore.
ANYA
Yeah. We’re going on strike.
(to herself, horrified)
Oh my god. I’m a union organizer. An enemy of Capitalism!
The eaves-dropper steps out of the shadows. It’s
JOSS
Okay. I realize you guys aren’t happy with the direction the show took last year…
His expression contrite, sympathetic, he stands before the Scoobies with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops.
TARA
It’s not even just our show. Everyone knows “Buffy” was only the beginning.
Things on “Angel” were just as despairing, and don’t even get me started on how bleak the final frontier looks on that
new gig of yours. When you’re not sure where to take the character arcs, you don’t even stop to consider the options. You just go for the big hurt. It’s not doing any good for anyone- and it’s not what creating art is about.
JOSS
(holds his hansd out, as if to ward off the criticism)
Hey. I’m just trying to tell a story.
TARA
(deadpan)
Hey. I think I’ve heard that one before. What was it called? Oh, yeah. “Life sucks, then you die.” Nice.
JOSS
Oh, come on.
TARA
People-
intelligent people who used to insist that you were the reincarnation of Shakespeare are now convinced that your talents are more suited to penning the liner notes for Charmin. And I mean the stuff that’s texture-embossed on the two-ply part, not the words on the plastic wrap packaging.
JOSS
(stubborn)
I executive produce three shows. Legions of fans regularly polish my ass to shiny whiteness before festooning it with kis- um.
(chuckles, covering this slip with a shit-eating, but still apologetic grin)
I have to be doing something right.
TARA
Yeah. ‘Cause that seems to be working out
so well for you, Mr. Desperate-Positive-Spin-on-the-Worst-Ratings-My-Flagship-Show-Has-Ever-Had.
JOSS
Hey. It is. It’s working.
Anya and Willow snicker. Tara folds her arms across her chest, squaring off opposite him.
JOSS (cont’d)
Tara, please. The show needs you.
I need you. You know we were just kidding with “wham, bam, slap-a-tag-on-my-toe, ma’am” stuff. We always meant to bring you back.
I don’t need all this depressing, sadistic crap anymore.
I don’t. Let me prove it to you, okay. To all of you.
I’ll go the first half of the season without lying or using trite, ill-conceived material. I swear.
Tara looks at him, her face expressionless, considering.
TARA
Go a week. A week without pissing us off.
JOSS
(soothing)
Pfft. That's easy!
Tara isn't convinced in the least. She's stoic, fighting back the urge to deck him.
TARA
A week and then we'll see. I don’t know… I think you need serious psychological evaluation.
I still can’t believe the crap you pulled last season.
They hold each other's eyes. The rest of the gang looks on, disconcerted, disbelieving. Willow in particular turns a wide-eyed look of shock to her lover.
WILLOW
You're saying we’re actually going to stick around for more of his crap?
CUT TO:
INT. TRAINING ROOM - MORNING
Buffy stands before Giles who sits on the couch. She looks stricken. He looks grim and terribly unhappy.
GILES
(plaintively)
Oh, bloody hell. I can’t take it anymore.
BUFFY
Uh-huh.
(then; pissed)
What do you mean '
you can’t take it anymore’?
You’re not the one who had to get up close and personal
with nipples of Spike last season. And worse than that even!
Everything is fucked up beyond belief.
GILES
I know. But I have to wise up here. I mean, let’s face it,
Joss is more concerned with his daily bath in a pool of tears
collected from the dewy pillows of traumatized fans than with my spin off.
And I know I have to just accept it- I’m trying…
BUFFY
To what? Get used to the idea that he forgot about you?
Consider yourself lucky, Giles. I mean, hello.
(raises her hand, “party of one”)
Spent half the season taking a ride on the Platinum Popsicle train.
She shudders with the memory. As do we all.
GILES
(wincing)
Buffy please, this is hard.
BUFFY
Yeah, I know, I know. This hurts you
more than it hurts me. It must have been really hard for you to
have to not actually be here for… oh, wait… 99.9% of the horror.
GILES
I didn’t want to leave-
BUFFY
Well, yeah, sure. But that was before everything went to hell. No,
scratch that. I would have much preferred actually going to hell. A grand tour of all nine levels, with a big sign around my neck that says “Slayer-Flavored Demon Chow.”
GILES
But you survived it. All of it. And now we can take what scraps we have left of our digni-
She casts a profoundly bitter glance his way. Doesn’t seem to feel she has any dignity left after last season.
GILES (cont’d)
Oh, come now. At least you were to have gone out fighting in the finale. That has to count for something in terms of getting your own back.
BUFFY
No, no. I’m really concerned about you here, Giles.
(mimicking his performance in the finale, the horrid cheesiness of the dialogue emphacized)
“Willow... I can see her... I know
where she is... I can feel what she… Oh, God!”
She throws a melodramatic hand across her temples, feigning a Scarlet O’Hara-esque swoon.
Giles wears a sour expression, less than amused at being reminded of that scene.
GILES
And I'm loathe to suffer having to utter any more nonsensical rubbish. Which is why we have to go, Buffy. And I know that this… This is the hardest thing for you to do…
And Giles is having a hard time saying it.
GILES (cont'd)
In every great creator-creation relationship, there's
a point when the story outgrows the writer-
(off her glare)
Of course that scenario doesn’t apply here, as they took the “great” out of this story fairly early on last year.
(then)
What I'm saying is.... They’ve lost their minds.
Completely. And now that it’s come to the point that we have to take our leave of this monstrosity. It’s time to go, Buffy.
BUFFY
I dunno, Giles. I’m feeling ready to give the vengeance bent a whirl.
(she cracks her knuckles)
We do have a nice, handy demon at the ready. Maybe it’s time Joss got a taste of his own bitterness.
GILES
Now more than ever. The temptation
to give in to our base urges is greater than ever. We
can't let that happen. That would be letting them win. Don’t you see?
BUFFY
So I won't. But we can’t leave, Giles. Where would we go?
I mean, it’s fine for you, heading off to jolly old England for engaging landscapes and jam tarts, but... what about us? This is our home. You can stay, and we can fight together. I can be strong again. We just have to find a way…
She trails off, still having not the faintest clue as to how to begin to clean up Joss’ mess.
GILES
Buffy. I've thought this over. And
over. I think it's the right thing.
She stands up. Really hurt and mad.
BUFFY
You're wrong.
GILES
I don't think so. And furthermore, if I have to hear you talk about Spike’s “popsicle” again, I’m going to cry like a seven year old girl.
(he actually mists up a little, his voice breaking)
I mean it.
Stay tuned for the end of Act 1, in which Joss *gasp* keeps his promise. Or um... not so much. "It's not real. I mean, there are no vampires, there are no witches. Well, there are Wiccans, but they're not making out with Alyson, so..." -Amber Benson
Edited by: Dumbsaint at: 9/14/02 7:42:19 am
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OMG that was too funny! I can't wait to read the next part! 
! 
This is friggin hilarious! 